


Presenting Sam Winchester

by Fledhyris



Series: Omega Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (apart from the obvious), Alpha John Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt, Estrangement, Gen, Omega Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Pheromones, Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Sequel to 'Presenting Dean Winchester'. Sam finally presents as an Alpha. Dean tries to do the right thing but pushes Sam away. Lots and lots of pheromones. No sex yet but it's heading for Wincest later in the series.My own take on ABO which includes most elements except mpreg, but Omegas aren't nearly as much of a submissive under-class as traditionally depicted. Brief reference to Pilot episode at the end (including canon dialogue). Betas are called Typicals in this 'verse, because they are typical of the population (the majority) and have no special characteristics, they are just normal people.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam can remember when he first Presented, but the details are a little hazier than his recollection of Dean, even though it happened years later. His mind was fogged by the strong emotional charge of the moment and the cloying sense memory of scent. He was a late bloomer, already nearing his 18th birthday, and they had all figured for a long time that he was Typical. But Presentation doesn’t always coincide with puberty.

He was arguing with Dad, pretty much a constant in their lives by this point, and he’d reached that stage where everything seemed to fade to grey except for the red tinge at the corners of his vision. He was yelling, his face contorted with fury. John was yelling back, and the scent of his dominance pushed into the room, the acrid taint of burning rubber overlaying his usual odour of cedar wood and cloves.

Sam had been smelling his father’s moods more and more lately, but he’d been able to smell Dean ever since he’d Presented, whenever he was in heat or got worked up about something. So he didn’t really think anything of it; assumed it was just because Dad was so riled up that his pheromones were strong. But as they fought this time, new scents pervaded the air, teasing his nose and brain. He kept glancing around the room, puzzled, his instincts insisting something he knew couldn’t be true; that another Alpha had entered the room, unseen. Coffee, and some kind of sweet, resinous spice; and actual, honest to God sulphur. The significance of that escaped him at the time; they wouldn’t learn its demonic association until years later, and its special relevance to Sam later still. Until then they would shrug it off as coincidence; dominance notes could span the range of foul smelling natural odours; but maybe their father had an inkling of what it meant, all along. 

Then suddenly, he smelled Dean; overpoweringly strong and sweet, drowning out everything else. Not just his usual cinnamon-apple smell but a thick curl of honeyed cream, dizzying and cloying in its richness, overlaid with just a hint of burnt sugar, bitter-sweet. 

Both protagonists stopped mid-sentence and turned to stare at Dean, noses twitching. He was sitting on the floor on the other side of the room with his knees drawn up to his chest, clutching his head in his clasped hands; and now that their angry voices had ceased, Sam could hear him, too. “Please stop, please stop, please stop!” Dean repeated over and over in a thin, wretched whine. Sam gaped at him, dismayed. He could only imagine how it was affecting Dad but it sure as hell was affecting him; appeasement hormones. He knew all about them, had just never been a witness to Dean _doing_ it before now. The honeyed fragrance drove into his anger like a nail bursting a balloon, all his pent-up emotions swirling to dissipate like smoke. All he could smell (and hear) was Dean’s distress, Dad and their argument almost forgotten.

Vaguely, as though through thick fog, he heard Dad sounding calm and concerned; ‘Dean, son, it’s all right, I’m not mad at you...’ Suddenly, all Sam wanted was to stride over to Dean, to gather him into his arms and hug him close. Protect him, let him know that he wasn’t mad either, not with Dean; never with him, only with their father. He made the first stride forwards when Dad laid a hand on his arm. “Sam,” he said, and got no further, as Sam’s head whipped around with a savage growl and he bared his teeth in a snarl. 

_Mine,mine,MINE_ his blood seemed to roar in his ears and the Alpha male stepped back in shock, staring, his nostrils flared to test Sam’s scent… And Sam realised with a strange, dreamy kind of horror that he’d actually been about to attack his own father, to challenge him for possession of the Omega in the room. They faced off with one another, John’s (Dad’s, he was still Dad!) hands outstretched in a pacifying gesture, the burnt overtones of his scent dissipating as he forced himself to calm down by sheer strength of will. 

Sam took several deep breaths _(cinnamon honey caramel apple)_ and concentrated on his heart beat, willing it to slow down, and the strange sulphur smell also faded, along with Dean’s panicked litany. He realised that those other scents, the sulphur, coffee and spice, were his own; realised, in the same moment, that he was hard as a ramrod, pushing uncomfortably against the seam of his jeans. He stared at John (Dad!), who stared back, a slow smile spreading across his face and his eyes softening into an expression Sam had rarely seen.

“Welcome to the club, son,” he said softly, his voice vibrating with pride and joy. 

Dean exploded to his feet and ran past them both, barrelling through the door. It slammed behind him, muting the sound of his feet thumping along the corridor outside until he reached the outer door and hurled himself out of the cabin they were currently occupying. Sam frowned, wanting to go after him, make sure he was okay.

“Let him go, Sam,” said Dad. “It’s a lot to process, two Alphas fighting like that in front of an Omega. He’ll be back, but right now, he needs some space.” 

Sam didn’t think that was Dean’s problem, though. He remembered Dad’s reaction to Dean’s Presentation with crystal clarity, even from so many years ago. He hadn’t welcomed Dean to any club; had met the realisation as though it were nothing short of bad news. He’d never given the slightest hint that he was disappointed in his Omega son, but Sam knew how hard Dean took it, that he felt like a failure for turning out this way instead of the strong, confident Alpha Dad must have hoped for.

Whatever Dad felt about it, Sam had always felt like the odd one out. Dad and Dean shared something special, even if it did cause problems; a genetic bond that matched them like the two sides of a coin, pushing Sam out to the side, different currency. Now, suddenly, from being the black sheep of the family, Sam had stepped up to the plate instead; all their head butting explained and vindicated, two Alphas locking horns. Now, it was Dean who was the outsider, not Sam, and he felt somehow as though he had unwittingly betrayed his brother. And needed, desperately, to make it up to him. What did Dad know about Omegas, anyway? It was Sam who had done all the research, been there at every turn to help Dean with the predicament of his genes. Sam who made sure that Dean went through at least three heats each year, in secret, to let his body recover from the constant harrowing of the suppressants. Dean needed Sam, needed him _right now_ , he was completely sure of it.

He straightened, pulling his shoulders back; spoke calmly but with forceful finality. “I’m going to find him. He shouldn’t be on his own, he’s vulnerable after what just happened.”

Dad didn’t protest any further; the renewed flash of pride in his eyes followed Sam out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hadn’t gone far, just around to the back of the cabin. Sam found him near the car, as he’d expected, hunched miserably on the little stoop by the back door. Dean looked terrible; his skin pale and blotchy, his eyes red rimmed and a little bloodshot. He glanced at Sam then looked away quickly, almost flinching. He kept swallowing rhythmically, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Sam wanted to comfort him so badly it almost hurt physically just to stand there, but he didn’t want to spook Dean, so he held himself together and concentrated on making his body language nice and loose and non-threatening.

“Hey,” he said, softly. Dean lifted haunted eyes to Sam’s then ducked his face away again.

“Sorry about that,” Sam offered. “Me and Dad… Lately… I dunno what it is.” He shrugged a shoulder, self deprecating. 

“Think it’s pretty clear what it is now,” Dean answered, his voice low and rasping. He sounded dazed; wounded by the pain of his brother’s betrayal, Sam thought. His brows pinched together into a frown and he forgot his resolve and moved forward to drop onto the wooden step beside Dean. There wasn’t much room for them both, Sam’s body having been expanding recently at an alarming rate; he was all broad shoulders and jutting limbs, already meeting Dean’s height with no signs of stopping. He couldn’t help accidentally nudging Dean, brushing against him with a shoulder, an elbow, a knee. At least he didn’t flinch away this time. Dean’s scent was heady, insistent, the honey still pooling warm over apples like sunlight in an orchard. Sam’s head bent nearer, snuffing softly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I didn’t… I had no idea. Really, I promise.” He should have done; should have suspected from the first time he smelled Dean almost five years ago, because Typicals weren’t supposed to be able to make out pheromones, although they were still affected by them, up close. But he’d always just assumed it was down to the connection they shared, their close brotherly bond. The fact he was always around when Dean went through heat, when the scent was strong enough even a Typical might have noticed. He’d thought he was just really well attuned to it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said softly, sounding sad. “Not like it would’ve made any difference.”

Sam leaned into his side, pushed his head up against Dean’s and sat like that for a moment or two, inhaling through his hair, sifting the Dean scents from the chemical tones of shampoo and styling gel.

“You’re right,” he murmured, “it doesn’t matter. I’m still me, Dean. This doesn’t change anything. Not between us. You’re still my big brother; my buddy. ‘M not gonna stop looking up to you, just ‘cause I got the Alpha genes in the family.”

“It changes everything,” Dean argued, his voice hollow. He leaned in, pushing his head back against Sam’s. Sam could feel the slight vibration running through Dean’s body; he was trembling.

“Hey,” Sam said again, draping a long arm around Dean’s shoulders. “It doesn’t have to.” He nuzzled where his nose was still buried in the short, spiky-soft hair.

Dean made a soft, small sound in his throat and tipped his head back against Sam’s arm, breaking contact. Sam drew back a tiny way, just to look at him. His eyes were closed _(eliciting a pang, missing their apple-green depths)_ and the freckles dusting his nose _(cinnamon)_ stood out against the pale skin. His throat stretched, soft and bare like an invitation _(honeyed cream)_ and his mouth was pressed in a thin, unhappy line. Sam wanted to kiss it, to plump those soft lips back to their Cupid’s bow perfection. Coffee and spice drifted around them, mingling with Dean’s lighter scent. Their signatures blended into one smooth, richly layered fragrance as delicious as a kitchen on baking day. 

Sam swallowed, leaned in further, pressed his lips to the arch of Dean’s throat. Could feel his pulse fluttering beneath the skin. Dean made another soft sound and Sam kissed his way up the column of his throat, with tiny, butterfly dabs of his lips. Kissed along a jawline fuzzy with the ghost of stubble; reached his mouth; settled his own lips firmly over Dean’s. Sam pressed, gently, and Dean’s lips parted, opening to him, so he slid his tongue within. The flavour-scent was suddenly twice as potent and Sam moaned deep in his throat and tightened his arm, pulling Dean to him as he fell, dizzy and drowning in honeyed-apple sweetness. Dean didn’t move, either to resist or meet Sam’s kiss; he just lay there in Sam’s arms and let him explore his mouth with his tongue.

Sam had kissed someone just once before; a girl, Amy, the Kitsune who had killed her own mother to save him. This kiss was ten, a hundred, a thousand times sweeter. Scent was pouring off Dean in waves and he wanted more, wanted to taste him all over, every inch of skin. Wanted to burrow closer and rub himself against him, inside him, slide home to ease the insistent ache between his thighs. He laid a hand on Dean’s leg, rubbing soft circles with his thumb at the top of his thigh, and Dean shifted slightly, his leg falling to the side, opening out to Sam’s caress…

And then suddenly with a shudder and an inarticulate cry, Dean tore himself away, putting out an arm stiff against Sam’s chest to hold him at bay. He laid his other hand over Sam’s and squeezed softly, before lifting it and moving it off his leg. He let it rest on the step between them, still clasped firmly within his own. He stared into Sam’s eyes, his expression stricken but yearning, and his lower lip was quivering as his breath came panting, short and fast.

“Sammy; no; we can’t,” Dean groaned, as though the words were torn from him against his will.

“Why not?” Sam breathed, eyes intent on Dean’s, still inhaling that delicious scent. He turned his hand within Dean’s, twining their fingers together.

Dean huffed the ghost of a strangled laugh. “Because you’re my brother, Sam,” he said, his voice pleading.

“Law’s relaxed for relatives when they’re Alpha and Omega,” Sam replied, promptly. He really had done a lot of research. “It’s not illegal; if you don’t contest it. Not like I could get you pregnant.”

Dean groaned again, closed his eyes; gripped Sam’s hand tight. The honey scent sizzled, deepening to burnt sugar; his distress note.

“It’s still not encouraged,” he protested, faintly. “And Dad could press charges, get a restraining order. He’d pitch a fit, the very least. You’re seventeen, I’m twenty-two; it’s not right.”

“I don’t care,” Sam growled, leaning forward again to nuzzle Dean’s cheek. “I _want_ you. I’ve always wanted you, I just… Didn’t know how, before.”

“Sam,” Dean pleaded, his voice breaking. “It’s – you’re Presenting, it’s the hormones. They’ll calm down in a while, and you’ll see. I’m not; this is why...”

“No,” Sam said, emphatically. “It’s not; not just me. You know it, you just don’t want to admit it. Tell me, Dean; tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave you alone, I’ll get up right now and walk away.”

Dean made a hurt, strangling sound. “You can’t ask me to say that..! Not fair Sam, of course I – but that’s not the point. You’re my brother, you can’t be my Alpha. You should be; chasing after girls, at your age, or, or...”

“If you say ‘finding another Omega’,” Sam growled into the tender spot on Dean’s neck just behind his ear, making him shudder, “I will bite you. I will. I don’t want another Omega, Dean, I want you; I already have you. Don’t I? Please, Dean. Say you’re mine? We can be together, forever, just like always, things don’t have to change. And I can look after you, stop you needing those horrible drugs. I do look after you, don’t I, Dean? I can do that properly now, give you what you need.” He breathed wetly, raggedly against Dean’s skin, flicked his tongue out to lick his ear. The burnt sugar taste was heavy on his tongue now, growing bitter.

“Don’t be scared, Dean,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you. All you have to do is say, if you don’t want me...”

Dean made another of those hurt, lost sounds and pushed his head back against Sam’s, nuzzling close. “Not saying that, Sammy,” he whispered. “Not scared. I just… ‘M trying to protect you. My kid brother. You’re not… one of us has to be strong, right now. You’ll see. You’ll thank me for it, later. When you can still look Dad in the eye.”

“Screw Dad,” Sam snarled, quietly. “He doesn’t look after you like I do, Dean. He’d have you on those damn suppressants month in, month out; and okay, I get it, he’s trying to keep you safe; safe from _him_ ; but now there’s no need. I can do it, I can protect you! He won’t challenge it Dean, he’ll understand; it’d be for the best, keep us all together, as a family. He wants that, we can still hunt together; it’ll be better than before!”

“Sammy, no, it won’t, you… you can’t,” Dean tried, haltingly, to argue, but Sam had made up his mind and he knew they were only token protests. Dean wanted him, he was just trying to be noble and do the right thing, _protect your brother, look after Sammy_. But he was nearly eighteen now, bigger than Dean, and an Alpha, and he didn’t need protecting; Dean did. He moved his head, searching for Dean’s lips again, and if Dean gave even the slightest physical indication that he didn’t want this, Sam swore he’d stop; but he wasn’t resisting. He leaned in towards Sam, his breath ghosting cinnamon-warm over Sam’s lips, and it felt so good and right and – 

A heavy hand fell onto Sam’s shoulder and Dad’s scent enveloped him, dominating, pressing back as though the very air were starting to congeal. Sam snarled and twisted around but John was bigger, stronger, expecting him to fight back. He overpowered Sam without either of them getting too badly hurt. John looked up from where he had Sam pinned to the ground, his arms twisted up behind his back, and spoke one word to Dean. “Go.” A beat, and then Sam heard his brother’s retreating footsteps as he took off again, leaving Sam; turning his back. Sam collapsed, all the fight drained from him, and ordinary dirt replaced the magical scents from just minutes before. 

When his father released him, he didn’t bother to get up; just lay there, feeling sick with disappointment and a creeping sense of shame. John said something, he didn’t register what; patted his shoulder, and left.


	3. Chapter 3

After that, things were strained among the three of them. Dad ran constant interference; nothing overt, but he was around a lot more, always made sure to take at least one of them on every hunt he couldn’t let slide despite family pressures. Dean didn’t exactly avoid him, but there was a definite shift in atmosphere. Their former easygoing banter dried up; they didn’t sit so close together. The simple little touches they had always exchanged, a hand on the shoulder, a nudge of the knee, even a friendly shove; all stopped. It was like Dean had put an invisible barrier between them and it hurt like a punch to the gut. 

It couldn’t just be Dad’s orders; they had always conspired to thwart him behind his back, not on the big stuff, but whenever it was personal. Dean letting little Sammy stay up late to watch TV. Caving to his demands for snacks over the at least marginally healthier food Dad insisted they both eat. Giving him the low-down on the truth Dad always seemed to feel he was too young to handle. Sneaking out to let off fireworks one fourth of July, setting light to the field and nearly burning down the woods adjacent. Letting Sam manage his heats like some kind of personal trainer, dogged and scarily efficient out of concern for his brother’s health.

There would be no heat management now, from anyone. Dean was on lock-down, taking the suppressants back to back, and Sam chafed at the risk, but his brother was adamant. We can’t any more Sam, he said, you know what would happen. You’re the same as Dad now. It wasn’t even an argument; Sam knew when it was useless to try and change Dean’s mind.

Sam reacted to it all, which didn’t help. He was moody and snarly, unreasonable and unruly. He went around like a bear with a sore head, and he knew it, but couldn’t help the pain of rejection from spilling over in clouds of sulphur that just reinforced Dean’s barriers. He was angry, hurt, and bewildered. He felt betrayed, abandoned; dumped, like an unwanted pet that has grown too big and difficult. They had always been close; in the last few years, as Sam matured and Dean relied on his help, they had been the best of friends. He had thought they were growing to be equals, that he was finally earning Dean’s respect, but now it was clear; Alpha or not, he would always be just a kid brother to the man he loved. He felt like he’d lost everything. He’d lost Dean, and what else mattered?

Well, he didn’t have to stick around and take it. He’d been growing increasingly frustrated with hunting anyway, there were more things to do in life and he itched to explore new horizons. Only the need to look after Dean had held back the rising yearning to make something of himself, something better, something that would stretch his mind and open opportunities. If Dean didn’t want him…

Sam started to put together his application for university, worked even harder at school. Was accepted to Stanford just over a year later. Dad flipped out, which Sam had been expecting; regaled him with duty and responsibility and family until Sam couldn’t see straight for the rage tearing through him like a forest fire. How dared Dad pull him up on his obligations, when all he’d ever wanted, ever done, was to fulfil them? He had tried to do everything for Dean, and they had both shot him down, shut him out. He was tired of being a third wheel, spinning uselessly, chafing at his Alpha status when there were people who would accept him, appreciate him, elsewhere. The row was bitter, blazing, and Sam stormed out in the middle and never looked back. He knew he could find work to tide him over the summer before term started; there was no reason for him to stick around any longer.

Dean, inevitably, made himself scarce during that last fight. Sam didn’t blame him; knew the effect their combined dominance signatures, the raised voices and emotional intensity would have on him as an Omega. Besides, he told himself, they were probably right. It was better this way; two Alphas and one Omega spelled trouble in any system, and Dean would do better sticking with Dad, and hunting, than kicking his heels for four years while Sam studied. Best just to make a clean break and move on, let them all adjust to a new way of life. Lick their wounds, get back on their feet and start afresh.

So, no, he didn’t harbour resentment towards Dean, but the loss was a constant ache, somewhere deep inside. It gnawed at him like hunger, a ceaseless whisper of reproach. You’re not good enough, he doesn’t need you, doesn’t want you, won’t miss you. You just complicated everything, messed it all up. Stay away, he’s better off without you.

And for three and a half years, Sam didn’t try to contact his family, refused to pick up the phone. Told himself that Dean was happy, had what he wanted, because if he didn’t, surely he would have come for Sam. He tried to invest himself in his new life, studying, holding down part-time jobs to pay his way; making friends; Jessica. 

Had almost succeeded, not in forgetting; never that; but in sealing off his past, tucking it away like an heirloom or a keepsake too treasured to let go but too painful to keep close. Until the night Dean broke into his apartment and, as Sam fought his unknown assailant in the dark, the familiar scent washed over him, unique and unforgettable. It surged through him, a literal blast from the past, releasing a flood of memories and scrambling his senses just long enough for Dean to knock him down and pin him to the floor. He soon showed Dean it had been just a momentary lapse; not just his pride but his Alpha status at stake.

Later, as they crossed the parking lot towards the Impala, he argued with Dean about the way they were raised; how he’d sworn off hunting, their father’s obsession. It was all deflection, rationalisation; the truth buried and repressed for so long he was all but in denial. 

“So what are you gonna do?” asked Dean. “You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?”

“No,” Sam replied. “Not normal. Safe.”

“And that's why you ran away.” Dean scoffed and looked away, like he thought that was really the reason Sam left, that he was scared of the life. It wasn’t hunting that scared Sam; it was the thought of living with Dean, always wanting what he couldn’t have. What might happen, either during a heat, or if Dean could never risk going through heat around Sam again.

Sam’s chest hurt. He’d figured Dean was behind him leaving, knew it was for the best. Didn’t he realise what he’d done to Sam, what it had cost? He clenched his hands, as sulphur curled into the air like an accusation. If it affected Dean, he gave no indication.

“I was just going to college,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

It wasn’t a lie. It was nowhere near the whole truth, either. No point in raking it all up now though. Dean had made the choice for both of them, and whatever he believed to help him feel better, it was all water under the bridge now. Sam didn’t want to argue.

“Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now,” Dean said, an edge to his voice and scent. “If he's not dead already. I can feel it.”

Sam was silent. Dad could look after himself; Dean wasn’t here about that, he realised. Not entirely. But he couldn’t show Sam the door and then come muscling back into his life like this, all demands and bravado, like he still had the right after pushing Sam away.

“I can't do this alone,” Dean finally admitted.

“Yes you can,” Sam answered, staring him down; willing him to just open up and be honest, for once. If he truly needed Sam, then he wasn’t going to say no. Could never refuse Dean, if the plea were heartfelt.

Dean looked down, his expression suddenly vulnerable.

“Yeah, well, I don't want to,” he said; and for now, Sam decided it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am indebted to LJ user Hell's Half Acre for [their painstakingly researched and corrected timeline,](https://hells-half-acre.livejournal.com/373711.html?view=6872271#t6872271) which covers the entire show to date. I suck at time concepts and the source canon is fuzzy and contradictory (and sometimes just plain inaccurate) but I needed to get the approximate timing of Sam's presentation just right, because of how it resolves to him leaving for Stanford.
> 
> When I started to write this, I'd intended for them to do more than just make out - not in that scene, but later, when Dean went into heat. I was going to have Dad catch them, flip out, and send Sam packing (for his own, and Dean's, good). But when it came to writing the scene on the cabin porch, Dean gently took matters into his own hands, and I went with it because I can't deny my muses, even when they drag the story in an entirely unexpected direction. Protective Dean, always looking out for Sam. <3


End file.
